


No Where

by thepointsdonotmatter



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt Mando, Hurt/Comfort, ManDadlorian, Protective Baby Yoda, Protective Din Djarin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:13:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27854850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepointsdonotmatter/pseuds/thepointsdonotmatter
Summary: Din and the kid are ambushed.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 272





	No Where

It’s dark when they touch down on the surface, the Crest sputtering and groaning, and Din can’t get the engines to reignite. He steps out on the landing strip and scans the surroundings once, twice. There are a few bushes strewn throughout the clearing, but nothing else for miles. On foot, maybe they’d reach the outskirts of the nearest town by dawn, if they’re lucky. The nightfall would provide good cover. 

He sighs. It’s too dangerous trying to cross through unknown territory right now. 

“We’ll have to wait until morning,” he says to the kid, who’s grabbed ahold of his leg. “Come on, let’s go back inside. I’ll heat up the leftover broth.” 

Narrowed eyes peer up at him. 

“We’ll eat gourmet tomorrow, okay?” 

A half-remembered thought comes to him later on, and he spends fifteen minutes rummaging through the cargo hold until he finds it: a packet of dried meats tucked away in one of the boxes. His chest swells. 

“Hey, kid—I mean, Grogu—” 

The kids ears perk up, and then he’s shrieking with joy when he sees them laid out on Din’s palms, as if they’re great, ancient treasures. Din tears them into small strips and hands them carefully to him. 

\-- 

This planet is anemic, bereft of large beasts. Each step he takes kicks up dust, and the sun’s hazy behind low-hanging clouds. He doesn’t like how exposed he is out here, so he moves quickly. He keeps his cape slightly draped to the front, hiding the kid in the satchel. 

Eventually they enter a forest of gangly trees. Din doesn’t know how close they are to civilization, and tries not to dwell too much on the fear in the back of his mind. He stops occasionally to feed the kid, give him water. Checks, and double checks their rations. His own stomach is growling but he ignores that, too. 

Fog settles in, swirling around them, when he finally sees the blocky outlines of buildings in the distance. 

“Almost there,” he mutters. "A day, maybe." 

He allows himself a sip of water. A tree rustles next to him as he puts his helmet back into place. He freezes, grabbing his spear, but he’s too late – they’re on him, how the hell did he not hear them until now— 

“Grab the asset,” one of the hunters barks. 

Din lands a strike on him, knocking him out, and torches another with his flamethrower, but the others push in. One-on-one, he knows he could wipe the floor with any of them, but there’s too many. The biggest guy, some red-skinned bastard, drives a foot down on his leg, hard, and Din hears a sickening _crack_. He cries out before he can help it. There’s blood in his mouth. His ribs are bruised to hell, if not broken. The kid’s not on him anymore—where is he—? 

Dimly, he realizes they’ve stopped beating the shit out of him, though they’re still surrounding him. He looks up, ears ringing, and sees one of the hunters holding Grogu in his claws. 

Grogu is crying, small, strangled noises. There’s a cut on his head and Din can see his blood and he lurches up, hand reaching out for him. Someone grabs him from behind, slamming him back down on his knees. 

His ruined leg collapses. “No,” he gasps, breath rattling. “Please —don’t hurt him—” 

“You have no say in this, Mandalorian.” 

He sees the long, curved blade first, before it's sinking into his side, deep beneath the beskar. He groans, feeling his life leak out, wet and coppery. This time, he can’t get up. He stares up at the sky, shivering, vision going white at the edges. The hunters laugh, walking away. 

Their voices suddenly go quiet. 

How long has he been lying here? 

Slowly, steadily, he feels a pressure and then warmth, like a balmy summer uncurling and filling his veins. And then, in between breaths, he’s wide awake again, gasping and drenched in sweat. He feels for the stab wound with shaking fingers, except there isn't a wound anymore. He blinks. The kid is leaning over him, his small hand on Din’s skin. 

Din sits up gingerly, dabs the cut on Grogu’s head with his cape. “Hey, kid,” he wheezes, pulling him close. “You okay?” 

Grogu babbles, looking at Din’s broken leg. 

“Hey, hey,” Din says, “It’s okay, you don’t need to heal that. I’m good now. You really saved me, you know?” 

He gathers the kid close to his chest, and uses the spear as a crutch to push himself up. He stifles a shout: it _hurts_ , and it takes all his willpower to not fall back down on his ass, or drop the kid. 

The ground is stained red. “I really lost a lot of blood, huh?” 

The kid’s starting to fall asleep, dried tears on his cheek. It's okay, Din tells himself, but his heart won’t stop pounding. They’re safe, it’s okay. He hobbles forward. He already knows what happened – what the kid did – but it’s another thing to see the gory details laid out: the bounty hunters, dead, some of their faces still contorted, hands reached up to their throats. Fear, shock in their eyes. Good. 

Footsteps. He drops the spear and pulls his blaster out, forgetting about the pain. He aims at the approaching figure. “Not one step further.” 

It’s an old man carrying a bale of hay on his back, and his mule. He immediately puts his hands up when he sees Din. 

“You with them?” Din asks. 

“No, I...” the old man takes in the scene, eyes wide. “These were the bandits attacking our village.” 

“You didn’t see any of this,” Din says. His voice sounds thin, even to his own ears. “Just let us pass. We don’t want any trouble.” 

“Young man, if you’re headed to the city, I wouldn’t. It’s not safe there.” 

“And your village is?” 

The man’s gaze lowers. “You’re better off turning back and leaving. This world is cursed.” 

Din’s hand starts to shake from the strain of being upright. He takes deep gouts of breaths until his head clears. “I can’t. Ship’s busted.” 

“I could probably fix it. I’ve always known machines.” 

“How do I know I can trust you?” Din asks, but he already has a gut feeling, the same feeling he had when he was a boy, staring up at an outstretched hand. Something about the man reminds him of Kuiil. There’s a profound sadness about him, of things unsaid in the stoop of his back. 

Din tightens his grip on Grogu. He also knows he has no other choice. 

\-- 

He remembers pieces of the next few days. Sitting slumped on the back of the mule, hawkish birds circling overhead. ("They smell your blood, young man.") Choking back bile when the old man set his leg. Grabbing the old man’s arm when he tried to remove his helmet. (He didn’t try again.) The buzz and whir of tools echoing around the Crest. 

Din dreams of smoke and fire and rubble, and wakes with a scream lodged in his throat. Then he feels the kid nestled against his side, and remembers where he is, and sleeps. 

\-- 

“I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” Din says. 

He tries to give the old man credits, but he refuses. He offers him anything he wants from the Crest – supplies, hardware, weapons. He says he can help defend his village, once he’s feeling stronger. 

“Everyone wants something,” Din says, watching him leave. 

The old man just looks back and smiles. “The child sang me a lullaby. It’s enough.” 

\-- 

It’s not until they’re truly far away in another sector, blackness of space around them, that Din lets out a breath. 

He sets the autopilot and turns around. “You good, kid?” 

The kid coos, head cocking to the side. His cut is healed. It occurs to Din that Grogu could have taken his helmet off all this time, but never did. 

The kid’s never seen his smile. Din slowly reaches up. For a long moment, they look at each other. It's a good thing, Din finally decides, that he never planned for this. There's no way to do it wrong.

He unclicks his helmet.


End file.
